Chapter 108
Duke Laurent
I look at the pictures.
Of my beautiful rose.
I want to tear them apart, claw them to ribbons but they are so beautiful.
Even when he is not alone, when that… other man is beside him the beauty remains.
That is the infuriating part.
And this is not even the bastard alpha from the report.
Another one.
Another face in far too many pictures, always near my rose.
Always touching what isn't his.
Impressive, really.
Despite photography being hardly a real art,this photographer…I hate him, yet I must admit , he understands light.
He caught my rose soft. Warm.
A different essence of my rose.
These photographs… they show something different: Not my rose behind crystal glass, but some sunflower bright, glowing, simple.
Still beautiful, of course.
But not my rose.
Not the delicate, exquisite bloom meant to be protected, pedestaled, admired.
This… thing in the photos is bright.
Smiling.
Like a sunflower.
Sunflowers are fine.
Lovely, even.
